The Honeytrap
by oldmule
Summary: "Sex is the easiest way." There's only one man for the job - as unwilling as he may be.
1. Chapter 1

"You're too young for her."

"And you're too pretty!"

"Maybe, if you'd bothered to look further than her profile picture, you'd know exactly what her sexual preferences are."

"Alright, alright," Zaf finally conceded.

"So…" exhaled Adam slowly, "… that leaves Malcolm … "

"Or Harry."

They looked at each other. Neither seemed to want to move.

"It's your operation," said Zaf making a sudden move for the pods, "You can tell him."

He grinned as he turned back, seeing a ball of paper flying towards him. The pod door slid shut, the makeshift missile bouncing off it.

Adam glanced towards Harry's office and unwillingly rose from his chair.

* * *

"A honey trap?"

Adam nodded.

"Is this not a little more suited to you or Mr Younis?" Harry asked eyebrows raised.

"Not on this occasion."

Harry's hand strayed to the buff file before him. He opened it, reading the biog page which lay before him.

"Twenty three!?" he exclaimed, glancing up to Adam.

"She has a thing for older men."

Harry looked sceptical as he leafed through further pages.

"My daughter's older than that," he muttered.

"If there was another way, Harry, I wouldn't ask. But we need Zofira's intel. She spent two years living with Kazal, if anyone can give us what we need, she's it. We introduce her to the right man, put her in an intimate situation, in an exciting, romantic new city and she'll feel comfortable enough to talk."

"There has to be someone else."

"No one who fits as well as you."

For a long moment Harry said nothing.

"Oh, come on Harry, you must have done this hundreds of times."

"Not in recent years."

"Scared, you've lost your touch?" Adam smiled.

Harry glanced up at him, thought about all the reasons he needed to say no, but in the end said nothing. It was difficult to justify not doing it on the basis of a relationship he wasn't even in.

"She lands here tomorrow afternoon."

Still looking far from happy, Harry turned to the photos at the back of the file, his face twitching slightly before he lifted a picture of Kazal, the fifty four year old Armenian who had been on Five's watch list for the last six years, and a girl, a girl who was more than a little on the large side and who was certainly no model. He silently turned the photo towards Adam.

Adam shrugged apologetically.

"I'd offer but …."

"But?" asked Harry, icily.

"As I said," smiled Adam, "I'm just not her type."

* * *

There were more than a few smiles being suppressed in the meeting room the following afternoon.

Adam led the briefing.

On the wall before them was projected a large image of the ample young woman in question.

Of the six people in the room, smiling was not a problem for three of them. Malcolm's face was filled with relief that as the closest to Harry's age he had not been chosen as the prime candidate. Harry's face was filled with an icy, yet far from happy acceptance. Ruth's face betrayed nothing but yet somehow of the three seemed furthest away from a smile.

"And then it'll be down to Harry to weave his magic," concluded Adam.

"That's it?" asked Ruth quietly, "That's the most sophisticated plan that Her Majesty's security forces can come up with?"

"Afraid so," said Zaf, enjoying the moment a little too much.

Harry's gaze slid to Ruth but her eyes remained well clear of him.

"Sex is usually the easiest way," Ros stated simply.

"Are we done?" Harry snapped. It wasn't really a question.

As he rose from the table the door opened and Jo entered.

"Zofira has arrived at the hotel, checked in at 15.00."

Harry sat back down wearily.

"She still there?" Adam asked.

Jo nodded, "In the spa having a beauty treatment."

"She needs a damn sight more than that," muttered Zaf under his breath, looking at the less than flattering photo that was still on the screen.

Jo reached for the remote and the picture of Zofira disappeared. In its place flashed up a security image.

"Who's that?" Zaf asked, looking up with sudden interest.

A stunning, raven haired, lithe and beautiful young woman was caught perfectly on camera.

"That's Zofira," announced Jo.

"What?!" exclaimed Zaf.

Adam looked at her in disbelief, "Are you sure?"

She nodded.

"That's some beauty treatment," said a straightfaced Ros.

"Seems our previous photos were a little out of date," added Jo.

Harry was staring. As was Malcolm. And Zaf. And Adam.

"If you'd rather I took the job –" offered Zaf.

"You're not her type," Adam reiterated, not taking his eyes from the screen.

"But Harry is," said a quiet voice.


	2. Chapter 2

An avocado ciabatta in hand, Ruth re-entered Thames House. She wasn't hungry, nor did she know why she had chosen avocado. She didn't feel like avocado. She didn't feel like lunch.

"Ruth."

She looked up to see Harry approaching. Nodding she pushed on, fully intent on not stopping, but suddenly there he was in front of her.

"Ruth...I -"

"Shouldn't you to be at the hotel?" she said simply.

"I'm just on the way."

"Well, good luck."

And that was it, she was past him and away.

Harry gazed after her departing figure for a moment before realizing one of the security guards was watching him. He moved on, out of the building and got into the waiting car.

* * *

"Are you eating that?"

Ruth shook her head and tossed the abandoned sandwich in Zaf's general direction.

He launched himself across the desk in a valiant attempt to catch it.

"Sorry," said Ruth.

Ros appeared, firing a withering look at Zaf

"If you've finished fielding practice, Zofira's on the move."

She leaned over to punch a key on his computer.

"Unless your lunch is more pressing, of course."

Zaf glanced at Ruth and raised his eyebrows. She couldn't help but smile, Zaf always made her smile.

Earpiece fixed in place, Ruth spoke to Adam.

"Alpha Two, confirm your status."

"In position. Target approaching."

"Alpha One?" Ros asked, watching the image of Harry who was buying a newspaper from a kiosk opposite the hotel.

"In position."

Zofira entered the field of vision of the cctv camera. She looked as attractive as she had the day before but yet she moved with a lack of confidence and an unawareness of the impression she was making on many of the men around her.

She handed her key to the concierge and moved towards the large fronted glass revolving doors. Behind her a tall familiar, blond haired figure followed. As she stepped into the space between the glass panels Adam reached out and lightly grabbed her handbag, unaware she pushed at the revolving door. A blade flashed in the sunlight and quickly and efficiently cut through the straps. Now enclosed within the door Zofira realized too late what had happened, she looked up to see a figure ducking through the adjacent swing door and out into the street beyond.

Harry, newspaper under his arm, was crossing the road as Adam emerged from the hotel walking calmly away, bag under his jacket.

Zofira burst through the doors crying out, pointing after Adam, who now began to run – straight into Harry.

Adam was sprawled across the road, Harry looked on in confusion between him and Zofira, who was rapidly approaching. As Adam scrambled to his feet, Harry reached down pulling the bag from his grasp, Adam lunged at him, Harry staggering backwards but keeping his hold on the handbag, until Adam seemingly gave up and sprinted away.

"Here we go," said Zaf intently leaning towards the screen, eyes wide.

This was the test. They all knew it. The sting was the easy part, the question was would Zofira, with all her new found looks be attracted to Harry.

With a smile he handed the bag back to Zofira who appeared to be thanking him profusely, but he was already moving away towards the hotel, glancing at his watch, brushing off her gratitude. Zofira looked down at the severed straps of her bag.

Ruth watched and waited.

"If she looks, she's interested," said Zaf.

As Harry was about to disappear inside Zofira glanced up, looking after him until he vanished from view. She remained there even when he had gone.

"Got her," smiled Ros.

Ruth turned away, removing her earpiece.

* * *

Harry didn't need to return to the grid but he wanted to.

He needed to shower and change and be ready to seduce Zofira.

But his thoughts were with Ruth.

He wanted to say something to her, though god alone actually knew what it was. He wanted to tell her that this was just a job, like every other one, like all the other operations they'd run, necessary, nothing more.

He wanted to ask her out, he had done for a while but he was filled with doubts. It was a strange experience for him, a man who knew his own mind; who made decisions every minute of every day; who could read the thoughts of people as well as any man and better than most. He thought she cared for him, he thought he'd seen it in her face often enough, but then he would see her care and consideration for the rest of the team and wonder if he was no different; she cared for them all, like family.

He didn't want to be like family. He wanted her to want him, to feel the same thrill, the same heat he felt when he was close to her.

But to take that step. To risk saying something. To reveal his feelings. How difficult that would be if he was wrong.

They worked together. She worked for him. He had a responsibility. And so he had said nothing.

When he arrived at Thames House he was none the wiser about what he should say, or if he should say anything. He just knew he wanted to be somewhere near her.

* * *

Ruth watched him return to his office and she watched him during their briefing. She told herself that she should, in fact, be watchful not of him but of her own reactions; she didn't want the others to notice when she was staring at him but stare at him, she did.

There was just something about him, something she felt constantly drawn to and that just made the whole thing more …. tantalizing.

She wondered if that was what was so attractive, the sheer unattainability of it all: the secrecy and the possibility; but not the reality.

If he did want her and he made a move, what would she do? Run a mile? Say yes, say no?

No, she concluded, it was just a fantasy that she had lost herself in and let her feelings run away with her.

* * *

"Ruth." Harry called her into his office.

She slid the door shut feeling that familiar frisson.

He stood up from behind his desk and leant against it facing her.

"Ruth, I…"

"Is your legend fixed?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied, thrown a little both by the question and by how very blue her eyes looked.

"You want me to test it with you?"

"Oh…why not?"

He realized he had been distracted yet again in his attempt to say something but let's face it, he didn't know where to start anyway.

"You are?"

"James Fellows. 55. Business director of an international travel firm."

"Married?"

"Divorced."

"Amicably?" she asked.

"Surprisingly, yes. We had no children and so that made things easier, besides which she has her own money."

"Oh, you married a rich woman?" she smiled.

"I married a moderately wealthy woman who invested well."

"Do you still see ….?" prompted Ruth.

"Margaret," Harry replied, unphased, "On occasions, but we've been been apart for over three years now and so things have moved on."

"And other women?"

"What about them?" Harry countered.

"I presume you are you seeing other women, an attractive businessman like yourself?"

Harry's lip twitched a little, "Attractive?" he queried.

Ruth hoped to hell she wasn't blushing.

"Well, I'm sure Zofira would think so."

"I'm sure I don't know why," he said, eyebrows raised, smiling as he turned away.

"I do."

She had said it so quietly she thought he had not heard.

He turned back to her, his eyes searching and hot. He had heard.

"She likes older men," she continued quickly, "and you're just her type."

"Right," Harry sounded disappointed.

"And how long are you staying in London?"

"Four days, for a series of business meetings and then I fly to Paris and on to Rome to our other offices."

"You must have an exciting life, James."

"It has its moments," he replied, "but sometimes it's lonely… I get lonely." His face was more serious now as he gazed at her. "They're beautiful cities but they're nothing if you have no-one to share them with."

Ruth looked at him. Was this the legend, or was this for her and her alone?

"I'm sure Zofira will be more than eager to ease your lonliness." she said, before turning to the door.

"Ruth..." he called her back. His eyes were soft and warm and sad.

"Your legend sounds fine to me, Harry."

"Thanks," he said quietly.

The door slid shut.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry sat in the bar with a scotch.

Ruth watched him.

He looked good. Black jeans, black crew neck shirt and a casual jacket. He leant back against the plush seat swilling the liquid thoughtfully around the crystal glass.

There was a large part of Ruth that could have happily sat there all night. There was something about the way he pursed his lower lip, slightly caressing the glass, waiting to receive the heat of the whiskey.

"Alright?" asked Adam, appearing suddenly.

Ruth closed the window on her screen.

"Fine," she said casually, "just working through the last of the Syrian transcripts."

"Don't work too late," he pulled on his coat and headed for the pods, "See you tomorrow."

"Night, Adam."

The window reopened. Harry nodded at the waiter, a fresh glass now in hand.

As he sat there waiting Ruth was not to know that his thoughts were all of her. He imagined himself in a bar waiting for her to join him, for it to be their date. He imagined her long boots; her hair; her eyes hidden by embarrassment; the blush on her cheek; and always, always the smartness of her reply, that sharp burning intelligence that was beyond him, impressed him, thrilled him.

She loved how he considered the glass, weighed its contents, measured its existence and then savoured every sweet drop of it. He could make a life or death decision in a heartbeat and yet he could deliberate something at length, considering all sides, pondering every outcome.

Perhaps that was the problem - with her he had too much time.

Ruth saw Zofira before he did. She watched her approach and hesitate, she watched her almost turn away before finally, shyly stepping forward and speaking to him. Ruth could not hear but she saw Harry look up, rise to his feet like the gentleman she knew him to be. The woman was stunning, even on a security camera she looked good: pale ivory skin, dark rich long hair, a slim yet voluptuous figure and a charming, infectious smile.

She was quite captivating.

And Harry appeared to be in agreement.

He hailed the waiter and ordered Zofira a drink. She sat opposite him and looked nervous but he was relaxed and at ease.

He had lost himself slightly in her eyes, they were a little like Ruth's, not quite as searching, nor as piercing but beautiful enough.

She had thanked him for his kindness, for the rescue of her bag in her occasionally broken English with a rich and warm voice. He had apologised for the haste of his retreat and asked if he could apologise better over a drink should she care to join him. The waiter had barely been able to take his eyes from her but she had been unaware of him. She was only aware of Harry.

Ruth was aware too, aware of the openness of his body language, of the smile that constantly played over his face. This wasn't the Harry she was used to watching, the man who sat behind his desk, scowling at reports; it was closer to the man he occasionally let her glimpse, the one who's eyes she had sometimes seen spark and ignite…she had thought for her, but now she wondered.

For two hours she sat watching and watchful, a silent surveillance of a situation that demanded none. For one hundred and twenty minutes she watched him slowly move closer; tactile and warm; oozing bonhomie and a quiet charm.

And for the duration of that two hours she concluded that she had never found him so very, very attractive.


	4. Chapter 4

"Anything from Zofira?"

All heads turned to Harry … apart from Ruth's.

"I made contact last night."

Before another word was spoken, Zaf's eyebrows were already on the rise. If Harry was aware of it, he did not comment.

"She's a little reserved, I didn't push it."

"Harry, we need to move on this," Adam pressed.

Harry turned to him slowly.

"Thank you, Adam, but I think you'll find that I have been doing this since you were in short trousers. I know what I'm doing."

"I don't doubt it," Adam smiled, "it's just that we don't have long before Kazal enters the country and the –"

"You'll have the information tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" queried a seemingly impressed Ros.

"You seem very sure of that," smirked Zaf.

"Tomorrow," repeated Harry, straight faced, "now if there's nothing else?"

He didn't wait for an answer, he was already on his feet.

Ruth lingered, letting the others follow him out until Adam paused in the doorway.

"It's what we do, Ruth," he said simply, "it might not be ethical but it is necessary."

"Of course," she replied casually.

Adam smiled, "Besides, if it was Ros we wouldn't even give it a second thought."

Ruth laughed, "If it was Ros, we wouldn't even have had to ask!"

He propped open the door for her but she hesitated before stepping through it.

"How did you do it, Adam … when it was Fiona in those situations?"

He glanced at her for a moment before smiling warmly.

"I thought that when she came home at night it was to me and that was the place she wanted to be. It was all an act, a performance we put on, like donning the coat that is our legend: shrug it on and take it off. Nothing more."

"Is it really that simple?"

"Usually, yes."

"And did it never get more complicated?"

"If you're experienced … like Harry, for example," he smiled "then it doesn't get complicated, Ruth."

She nodded, unwilling to say more.

* * *

Ruth sat before her monitor swiftly checking that no one was close by.

She reviewed the footage of the evening before for what must have been the seventh or eighth time. Already she knew its timing by heart.

Harry stood as Zofira stood. In unison. They smiled at each other before he reached down and gently kissed her on the cheek. Two and a half seconds. She looked away shyly and turned to go but his hand caught hers, pulling her back.

For a seemingly interminable eleven seconds he stared at her with powerful, intense, demanding eyes. Ruth felt each one of those seconds with a rising heat, that for all her watching, still never waned.

Finally he smiled, a soft sexy smile and mouthed a gentle 'goodnight'. Zofira, clearly thrilled and embarrassed jointly moved away from him, her smile clear to the cameras as she walked from the bar.

Alone now, Harry paid the waiter before he too turned to leave. Purposefully he strode away, the smile slipping from his face, and in that moment Ruth saw the proverbial legend shrugged off. It was the Harry she knew, the Harry who had a job to do.

* * *

Ruth sucked the cold, sharp air into her lungs. She needed to get a grip of herself, this was ridiculous, she had work to do, she needed to concentrate, not be up here trying to get that look out of her head.

"Trying to escape?"

The voice came from behind her. She held her gaze out over the skyline and bid her heart rate calm down.

"Would that be a bad thing?" she asked, calmly.

"No."

He stood beside her and peered out over the city. They were quiet. The city buzzed, a low hum of background sound that almost made its own silence of white noise.

He sighed.

"Is what we do wrong, Ruth?"

She didn't answer for a moment but rested her hands on the rail before her.

"What we do is serve and protect. The means we use to do that may not always be right."

He echoed her, he too leaning, steadying himself, looking forward still.

"But should we do them, Ruth? Does the need outweigh the means?"

"If it makes a difference…if it saves lives. Yes."

Both stood. Both stared at the space before them, both felt the other in the air between them.

Harry nodded and for the briefest of moments the little finger of his left hand stretched out and lightly brushed the little finger of hers. Then the hand curled and pulled away. And he was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

The grid was deserted; the lights were dim; the evening was slipping away.

Ruth sat alone at her desk. On her monitor a mosaic of cctv images mapping Zofira's hotel: lobby, bar, restaurant, corridors. A familiar figure stepped into the revolving glass doors and strode across the lobby.

Unblinking Ruth stared at the image and took a deep breath.

The monitor switched to black.

Shrugging on her coat, Ruth walked away.

Feet tucked up on the sofa, a glass of wine cradled in her hand, she looked once more at the swimming sea of words which resolutely refused to form a comprehensible sentence. She had been on the same page for fifteen minutes and still it made no sense.

She put the book down and went to scrub the kitchen.

Forty five minutes later and although she had the cleanest of cookers, her mind itself was certainly no clearer.

Attempting to not think about Harry wasn't working.

And so she went to bed.

Failed to go to sleep.

Looked at the ceiling and thought about him.

And what he was doing.

And who he was doing it with.

* * *

The atmosphere the next morning at Thames House was somewhat more tense than usual.

Today was the day Kazal was rumoured to possibly arrive in the country: exactly when they didn't know; where, they didn't know; and why, they could only guess at. Whatever the reasoning, he posed one of the biggest security risks in recent years.

Every channel they knew, every resource, every contact, every agent all were on high alert and yet they had nothing.

"Where the hell's Harry?" Ros muttered as he stalked past Ruth.

"Briefing room, now," ordered Adam.

Fifteen minutes later they wondered why they were there: there was no briefing to be done; there was no information to be shared.

But then the door opened and Harry, pressed and sharp in his usual Savile Row suit strode in, sitting at the head of the table.

All eyes turned to him.

"Jamal Kazal's target is the missile base at Faslane."

"What?!" exclaimed Adam.

"He hasn't a hope in hell of getting anywhere near it." proclaimed Zaf.

"We need to find a Ray, or Raz, I don't have a surname. He was in Munich four months ago and stayed at the Laimer Hof. His links are to Faslane or at least to service personnel who operate there. There'll be more than one connection."

"But –" began Adam.

"However unlikely it seems, Adam, Kazal's confidence on his success is not to be dismissed. He's too dangerous and too cautious to try anything he doesn't believe will work."

"Where did you get all this?" asked Ros.

Harry looked at her sharply.

"Where do you think?"

More than one pair of eyes made contact over the conference table. Neither belonged to Harry, nor to Ruth.

"And you trust her information?" questioned Ros.

"Yes."

He was not going to elaborate further. Not here and not now and certainly not with Ruth sitting two seats away from him.

"It's not certain but Kazal could be coming in via Harwich," he turned to Adam as he got up, "I suggest we make a start."

And with that he left the room.

"Bloody hell," announced Zaf, "he didn't waste any time."

"Good job it was Harry," Ros baited him, "If it was you, you'd still be at first base."

Zaf looked momentarily insulted before noticing Adam's outstretched hand.

"Haven't you forgotten something?" Adam grinned.

"Fine," Zaf muttered, pulling out a twenty pound note from his wallet and handing it over.

Adam folded it carefully and winked, "You heard the man, let's get on with it."

None of them had noticed that Ruth had left the room.

* * *

"May I?" she said, as she stood in the doorway.

He looked up briefly, "You don't usually ask."

"You looked tense."

His brow twitched but he said nothing.

She quietly slid the door closed behind her.

"So… James Fellows …? " she asked tentatively.

"Gone to Paris. Meeting unexpectedly moved forward."

She nodded, wondering just how to ask the next question.

"Is there anything more to know?" she said.

"To know?" he didn't follow.

Ruth hesitated, "Zofira? Does she have more information?"

"Ah," he realised, "No, Ruth, I believe she told me all she knew."

She nodded her head once more and then sat down opposite him. After a long moment she said quietly.

"Was it easy?"

He studied her as he considered his answer.

"Was it easy to make love to a beautiful young woman?" he pondered truth versus lie. "It wasn't difficult, no."

She held his gaze.

"But it wasn't what I wanted, Ruth."

"Part of the job?" she said unemotionally.

"Part of the job," he repeated.

"I asked Adam how he coped when it was Fiona."

"And?"

"He said he knew she was always coming back to him."

"They loved each other," he said softly, "that makes it easier."

"Easier?"

"Less complicated. It's less complicated if … you're in love with someone else."

He looked at her with piercing eyes as the moment hung between them until it became too much and she had to glance away.

"Still … doesn't stop me feeling like a …" he searched for the right word.

"Cad?" she suggested.

And he laughed, an open, warm laugh.

"Yes, a cad."

"A bounder?" she added.

He nodded.

"A blackguard?… a scoundrel?…a knave?"

"Yes, yes. All of those, Ruth. Certainly all of those. However archaic."

His smile had a sadness, a sense of regret that for all she wanted to hate him she could not.

He rubbed a hand over his face.

"She was a nice girl," he glanced up at her, "I know you don't need to hear this, and it's not fair to say it but … she was nice."

Ruth nodded. She understood what he was saying.

"But it's what we do," she said softly.

His fingers massaged his forehead again.

"Ruth…?" he said suddenly without uncovering his eyes.

She waited.

His hand slid down to his mouth, his eyes pouring over her.

"Yes?" her voice was quiet but encouraging.

He shook his head, imperceptibly. A refusal to say more. A recognition that maybe this was not the time.

But it was the time, as inappropriate as it may have seemed.

"Harry?" she prompted.

"We best find our man, " he said, standing suddenly, "otherwise this will have all been in vain."

"I think we'll find him," she said, her eyes fixed on his, "I know we will."


	6. Chapter 6

**Apologies for slightly shabby, plot driven yet plot weak update. I shall endeavour the next to be better! **

* * *

36 hours of frantic activity and yet still, like a ghost, Kazal had evaded them. Harwich had borne witness to his arrival days before Jo reached there. Faslane had harboured him at some point, though not when Ros and Adam searched the base.

But for all his elusive, evasive presence the operation had been far from a failure. Zaf had discovered the contact on HMS Vanguard, Ros and Adam had tracked the cache of stolen trident missiles and stopped them in transit, killing Kazal's brother in the process. And Jo had pursued the rest of his team, preventing them from leaving the country.

And all of it had happened because of Harry's information.

Standing on the grid, where only he, Ruth and Malcolm remained Harry received the news that Kazal had appeared to have slipped the net yet again.

The chair before him bore the brunt of his frustration.

Ruth knew how he felt.

The buzz of a phone ringing distracted him momentarily as he reached into his jacket pocket and fished out a second mobile. Ruth immediately aware of the surprise on his face as he read the display.

"Just get back here Adam.," he said, disconnecting one call as he accepted the other, his eyes fixing on Ruth.

"James Fellows," he said, tone neutral.

In that moment Ruth knew immediately who the caller was.

And he was keen that she knew, eager to prove that this was both unexpected and unheralded.

"Zofira …" he began, before clearly being interrupted.

A look of concern spread quickly over his face.

"It's okay, calm down. You need to stay where you are. … Where did he say?" he reached out a hand, Ruth found paper for him and he scribbled down an address. "Ok, listen, I'm at the airport, I'll call as soon as I land but promise me you'll stay there until you hear from me?"

He waited for an answer, nodded once and disconnected.

"Kazal," he announced, "We know where he is."

Harry strode towards his office, Ruth implicitly understanding that he wanted her to follow as he called for Malcolm to ready CO19.

"I need you to take this, Ruth," he slid open the drawer of his desk and pulled out a gun, "Then go to the hotel, move Zofira to a safe house and wait."

She looked at him in surprise.

"I know she'll trust you," he said.

He offered out the weapon but she didn't take it.

"I know it's unfair of me to ask, Ruth," he nodded out towards the sparsely occupied grid, "but in the circumstances I don't have a great deal of choice."

"You're going after Kazal?" was her only reply.

He nodded.

"When I've done, I'll come to the safehouse. It won't take long."

He offered the gun once more.

"Please?" he asked softly, "we may need her if things go wrong."

After a moment her hand reached out and closed around the cold metal and also the warm fingers that held it.

"Be careful," she said as he turned towards the door.

* * *

"James sent me."

Ruth concluded that Zofira was actually more attractive in person. She had gentle unassuming eyes. Eyes that looked frightened.

"Come in," she stepped aside to let Ruth enter the hotel room.

"Where are we going?" The young woman asked as Ruth picked up the bags Harry had instructed Zofira to pack.

"James' apartment. He thought you'd feel safer there."

Zofira smiled warmly. It was a smile that suddenly made Ruth very aware of what had happened in this room.

She wanted to get out.

* * *

They walked into the safe house. It was a modern flat on the river, neutral and unassuming.

"This is where he lives?" Zofira asked curiously of the impersonal space.

"He's away a lot."

"You work with him?"

"I do," answered Ruth, closing and securing the door behind them.

* * *

Harry strode into the warehouse, CO19 at his back.

It was the location where Kazal had told Zofira to meet him, insisted despite her protests and, as ever, eventually threatened and told her to bring cash.

Finally, finally, thought Harry, he would capture the ghost.

* * *

"Please let me do that," Zofira said, picking up the tray of cups, "you've been kind enough already."

Ruth let her lead the way from the kitchen, painfully aware of the younger woman's slim curved figure and the long lustrous dark hair that fell down her back.

She really didn't need to be faced with this woman who had known Harry in a way she never had.

As the milk was poured Ruth couldn't help but wonder what it had been like.

What he had been like.

On the gird they had continued at work as normal, it was what they did. All of it had happened because Harry was willing to do what it took to make a difference and there Ruth had coped. She had carried on as they always did, no matter the chaos, the evil, the inexcusable, the unacceptable, the barely comprehendible.

But here and now that felt a world away.

This felt fresh and painful and real and she knew it should have been her.

She wanted it to have been her.

"I didn't think I would see him again," Zofira said as she handed Ruth a cup of tea. "But I didn't know who else to call and I was afraid."

"Is he not a little old for you?" Ruth asked without thinking.

Zofira smiled a soft smile.

"He's charming and kind."

Ruth said nothing.

"He's your friend, you must see that?" Zofira asked.

"Perhaps he's not the same with me," said Ruth.

"But…perhaps you wish he was?"

Dark eyes studied bright blue ones. There was no malice in the question, merely a deep, instinctive resonance that caught Ruth by surprise.

She had no chance to answer though because suddenly there came a quiet knock at the door.


	7. Chapter 7

The door to the safe house opened.

Harry stood there.

He looked at Ruth and began to shake his head, "There was –"

"James!"

His head turned. Zofira stood in the hallway, a relieved smile energising her face as she walked towards him.

In that moment Ruth did not look at Harry, nor he at her, but they were both painfully, acutely aware of each other and the awkwardness of the situation they were now faced with.

Zofira stepped into Harry, reaching up and kissing him fully on the lips before her arms wound around his neck, enveloping him in a hug.

"Thank you so much," she whispered.

Harry's right arm pressed against her back, his fingers outspread.

But his eyes were on Ruth. Crying out with equal measure his regret and apology. His face told her he didn't want to be in those arms. He hoped above hope she would see that, and above everything he hoped he would be able to repair the damage that this was doing and that he could take away the hurt she was so valiantly trying to disguise.

Zofira began to pull away.

"I'll get off now you're back," said Ruth, breaking her own contact with him as she hurriedly reached for her bag.

"Your friend has been most kind," smiled Zofira.

Harry nodded, "I would like to think she's one of the most understanding people I know."

But Ruth was already reaching for the door handle.

"Thank you…" Zofira hesitated, "...you never told me your name?"

"Ruth," said Ruth.

No legend. That was her name. She was Ruth and she wanted Harry to hear her name. Hear it and not forget it.

She reached past him for her coat, this time avoiding his gaze but knowing he wanted her to look at him. Resolutely she kept her eyes downcast.

"Ruth…" said Harry, needing to say something.

"Bye James."

She opened the door.

A figure with a greying beard stood outside.

"Well, isn't this pleasant," he said in a clipped foreign accent.

And then he raised the gun in his hand and he fired.


	8. Chapter 8

Kazal closed the door behind him and stepped over the bloodied body on the floor.

"Slut!"

Ruth stared down at Harry who had sunk to his knees to catch Zofira. Blood was splattered across his chest. His haunted eyes, guilty now for a different reason, looked up at her.

A low noise of air squeezed through bleeding damaged lungs came from her throat.

Kazal sighed, inconvenienced and waved them through into the apartment.

Harry bent and as gently as he could picked Zofira up, laying her on the sofa.

Ruth followed, her hand eager to reach for the gun in her handbag, waiting and watchful for her chance.

Harry had stripped off his jacket and was pressing it against the wound in Zofira's chest. Kazal patted him down for a weapon but found none.

"Phone!" he demanded, hand outstretched. Harry gave it up and immediately it was on the floor with Kazal's heel over it.

He turned to Ruth but did not give her the chance to reach for her phone which lay in her coat pocket, instead he grabbed her hangbag. His head tilted with surprise and awareness as he felt the unexpected weight of it. He stepped close to her: too close, she could feel his heavy breath and see his eyes dip down to her chest. With a smile that was far from gratifying he reached into the bag and pulled out the gun holding it up to her.

She opened her mouth to speak but Harry cut in.

"What do you want Kazal?"

Kazal emptied the magazine from the gun and tossed it, redundant, across the room.  
"What do I want, government man?" he repeated, prowling the space before them, "My missiles would be a start, not to mention my men, but what I really want is that you had not slept with my woman and killed my only brother."

"Then perhaps you should have done the job yourself," said Harry.

Kazal stood very still.

Ruth's breath caught in her chest.

Then Kazal laughed.

Zofira's eyes opened at the sound and she began to cough: small pitiful coughs, spattered with blood. She looked up at Kazal, the man she had lived with for two years, the man who had terrorized her, Now at least she was free of him, or would be very soon.

"I…" she struggled to speak, "…I'm…"

A red bloom spread across her face as the bullet punctured her forehead.

"A dead slut," said a cold, sharp voice.

Kazal's eyes turned to Harry, "You shouldn't have touched her," he hissed, as the gun was raised once more, the angle narrowed and now aimed directly at Harry.

"Stop!" cried Ruth.

Kazal laughed that cold, hard, joyless laugh and his finger began to squeeze the trigger.

"No. Stop," she shouted, "It's too easy!"

Now, even if only for a moment, she had Kazal's attention. He looked at her, leaving the gun hovering exactly where it was.

"Kill him. Kill him, by all means," she glanced at Harry, keeping her voice as calm yet as bitter as she could. "Why do you think I brought the gun?"

Kazal's eyebrow twitched with curiosity and Ruth knew she had him.

"Kill the lying bastard, but not so easily."

The tension on the trigger was eased slightly.

"After all the others he told me it wouldn't happen again, but one young, pretty slapper and all that's forgotten."

"Please, Ruth…" Harry began, seeing what she was doing but not where she was going.

"I've suffered for years, why should he get away with an easy out?"

Kazal smiled, "You want me to hurt him?"

And this was Ruth's play. She had thought of all the others but this was all she had.

"I want you to kill him," she said calmly, slipping the coat from her shoulders and throwing it dismissively at Harry, "but not before he gets to know how it feels."

Kazal looked at her with lust in his eyes.

"Ruth, no!" cried Harry in horror.

"Shut up, you bastard," she spat at him, eyes blazing.

Kazal threw his head back, laughing a deep, satisfied laugh.

Ruth's eyes flicked from Harry to the coat and back to him. He caught the look before Kazal's hand grabbed the back of Ruth's neck and he thrust his face to hers.


	9. Chapter 9

The panic was rising in Harry's chest.

Kazal was rough and insistent: his lips battered Ruth's; his hands, right still clasping the gun, brutally marauded over her body.

Harry's eyes were wide with hatred, helplessness and distress.

He sat as still as possible, his hand sliding to the pocket of Ruth's coat. By touch he felt for the switch to make sure it was set to silent.

He risked a glance down at the screen and punched in Malcolm's number, keeping his thumb over the small speaker. As he saw the call connect he shouted out.

"Let her go, Kazal! Zofira's dead already, you don't want Ruth."

"Oh, don't I?" snarled Kazal, taunting Harry with a grin. And then his fingers clasped Ruth's blouse and tore it apart.

Harry couldn't help himself, he tensed, about to spring forward.

Kazal had expected it, he swung the gun and fired a single shot into Harry's left thigh.

Harry groaned in pain. Kazal laughed and glanced at Ruth who smiled convincingly at him, before pulling his head to her neck where he sucked and bit enthusiastically. She stared at Harry concern etched across her face.

He nodded, assuring her he was ok and for the briefest of seconds showed her the phone before laying it beside his injured leg, hidden beneath the coat.

They gazed at each other, both more anxious for the other than for themselves.

He felt the phone vibrate against his leg.

The call was still connected, a text message appeared on the screen.

_CO19 on the way, 13 minutes. Hold on._

Harry stared at the screen - 13 minutes!

Ruth felt clawing hands pulling at her skirt, she felt the cool air around her thighs as he lifted the material, groping beneath it.

None of it mattered, she thought. None of this mattered because she was wearing a big, heavy overcoat: the overcoat that came with a legend. She chose to wear it. She was Ruth, the scorned revengeful woman that wanted this; that was the part she was playing and when it was all over she would chose to shrug off the legend, shrug off the part and the coat and be herself, untouched by this.

But then she caught sight of Harry. His tense, pained eyes watched impotently.

With a grunt of satisfaction Kazal pushed aside her knickers and thrust his fingers into her. She winced at the brutality of his touch. As Kazal struggled to unfasten his trousers she looked back at Harry, at his soft gentle face: this was to keep him alive, this was to buy them time.

Somehow in looking at him it made it easier.

But Harry couldn't watch, his eyes closed and he looked away. Torn apart.

He looked for the magazine of bullets, they were about six feet away, the gun on the other side of the room. He would never make it from one to the other. He could throw the phone, distract Kazal and then make a leap for him. He would have ten feet to cover effectively on one leg, plenty of reaction time for Kazal to shoot either him or Ruth, or both.

With every move that was made Ruth assessed the situation. Was there anything she could do to get him to drop the gun. He was strong, stronger than she had anticipated and yet for all his lustfulness, he was watchful and aware.

She could only hope that help would come soon.

But Harry knew soon was not going to be soon enough.

Kazal pushed her roughly against the wall, his forearm across her throat, the gun clutched tightly. His other hand lifted her leg, as fumbling he thrust towards her.

The air was struggling to reach her lungs as his arm pressed harder and harder. She gasped and began to struggle but he didn't see it, eyes closing in expectation.

Harry was in hell.

A bullet was no longer an issue. Waiting no longer an option.

He launched himself forward, crying out as the shattered damage in his leg screamed pain through his nerves.

Kazal turned his head, his arm releasing Ruth's throat as he swung the gun towards Harry once more. Ruth thrust out her arms, pushing him with all the strength she had. Off balance the gun went off shattering the window behind Harry's head as he fell at Kazal's feet grabbing for the gun.

Ruth kicked out straightlegged, her heeled boots connecting with Kazal's genitals.

He doubled over with a strangled cry which was drowned out by the shattering of wood and glass and then a volley of gunfire as CO19 burst into the room.


	10. Chapter 10

**Firstly apologies that this story began its life categorised partly as humour. That was initially its intent, however it has seemingly spiralled into darkness. This chapter should hopefully began the process of bringing it back into the light!**

* * *

Before being hauled into an ambulance Harry instructed, or more accurately insisted, that Malcolm take Ruth home and make sure she took as much time as she needed.

It was a bit rich coming from Harry, seeing as soon as the damage to his leg had been treated, and against doctors orders, he checked himself out of the hospital. He went home, showered and rested before being on the grid at 6am the next morning for a debrief with the team who had just returned from Scotland.

All these things he did … but not before he called Ruth.

A series of awkward pauses spread before them as he waited her reassurance that she was okay; and she insisted he should still most definitely be in hospital.

They ended the call without really saying anything.

At 8am the team convened for the briefing. Harry easing himself into a seat with a derisory discarding of the walking stick he'd been given, even though his leg was giving him hell.

"Morning," said Ruth as she entered the room and proceeded to sit at the end of the table.

"Ruth, what the -?"

"I'm here for the debrief."

"Ruth." he snapped.

"I'm fine, Harry."

"But you should be -"

"Stop fussing."

And that was that.

Harry glanced around the room.

The others looked at each other - something had changed since they had been away. They had no idea how much.

The meeting moved on, Faslane was discussed, Kazal's contacts and his mode of access into the country.

When it came to debriefing the team about the events in the safe house, Harry was judicious with the details

As they filed away to continue to tie up the loose ends, he called Ruth back.

"I told you to take some time."

"I don't need time."

She was already on the way out.

All day he watched her. All day he never let her stray far; wary and watchful; protective and alert; concerned that at some point it would catch up with her. And so he watched.

His leg was hurting him she could tell, he masked it in front of the rest but she saw it when he was alone in his office, when he grimaced and reached too early for the scotch. And she wanted to go to him and sympathise, but she feared the conversation that would inevitably follow.

And so it was the whole day long - each of them more concerned for the other than they were for themselves.

Until the grid was empty and they were alone.


	11. Chapter 11

"Ruth...?"

She looked up to see him standing at his office door.

"I was just about to go," she said.

He winced and leant against the frame for support.

It was enough.

"Can I get you some painkillers?" she asked, entering the office, watching him hobble back towards his chair.

"I think I've already had my share," he sighed wearily, giving up and perching on the desk.

He nodded for her to sit, which reluctantly she did.

"We need to talk about yesterday."

She stood.

"Ruth, please."

"Harry, I'm fine."

"You need to talk to someone," he persisted, "If not to me, or a councilor, then perhaps Jo?"

"There's nothing to say."

"This is not just something you can pretend didn't happen, Ruth."

"Who's pretending?!"

"You are! By insisting you're fine."

"I am fine!"

There was a hiatus where neither spoke. Ruth took a deep calm breath.

"Harry, I made the decision. It was my choice. No one forced me."

He opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off.

"No, I didn't want it, of course I didn't. And yes, he was a repulsive man and I'm glad he's dead. But he did nothing to me that I didn't accede to. Trust me, I've had worse dates!"

"Don't be ridiculous!"

"Ask half the women in the country and they'll tell you they've been forced into something they didn't want."

"Not with a gun to their throats!"

"No, that was admittedly new," she conceded, "but this..." she gestured around her, "...this is what we do. What you did and what I did are no different. We both used sex for our own purposes, for the job. You for crucial information, me, to save your life. That's it. And if I had to do the same thing again I would, because I still can't think of another way to have stopped him from shooting you. And trust me, at the time it seemed like a good idea!" "

"It was and I'm thankful for it, truly I am," he acknowledged, "but I should have found a way to stop him."

"Is this about me, or your guilt, Harry?" she challenged.

He stared at her, nonplussed.

Her raised eyebrows offered up only questions. But he appeared to have no answers.

"Tell me…" she prompted, "If you could have found another way to get the information from Zofira, would you?"

"You know I would, Ruth," his voice was truly genuine, "And yes, I feel guilt," he admitted, "Guilt that because of me, she's dead. But most of all guilt that you had to make the decision you did and that I couldn't protect you."

"Protect me! You chauvinistic -"

"No, not because you're a woman," he protested before hesitating, "... because it was you."

"So it's fine for Ros?!" she exploded.

"Yes! No! You know what I mean!"

"I should be wrapped up in cotton wool and not be one of the team!?"

"You are one of the team, Ruth, of course you are."

He sighed a deep, fatigued sigh, his hand subconsciously rubbing at his leg.

"All I'm trying to say, admittedly not well, is that sometimes, and I know this from experience, when things seem fine, when you think you're okay… you're not."

"Well, on this occasion I am!" she declared defiantly.

"It's when you're alone, or at night, or even some random unexpected moment when suddenly it hits you and the panic rises in your chest and something that shouldn't affect you does," he looked at her gently, "and I just want you to be prepared for that."

Ruth was still not in the mood for gentle or sympathetic.

"So you're saying I'm just a ticking time bomb waiting to go off in the office?" she spat, "With no idea of the trigger, could be a cup of tea, the phone ringing, someone whose name begins with a 'K'?!"

"Of course not," he said, "but it might happen when you feel trapped, or when someone gets too close to you...when you're touched unexpectedly."

"Fine, touch me!" she demanded.

"What?"

"Touch me. See if I go off the deep end."

His eyes rolled to the ceiling at the stubborn, bloody mindiness of the woman. He took a calming breath and very slowly lifted his hand, his fingers delicately wrapping around hers.

"There," she said, triumphantly, "still sane. No danger to the grid!"

"Ruth, that isn't what I mean and you know it."

It was her turn to roll her eyes.

"Look, I just want the best for you, whether that's here on the grid, or personally."

"Oh, it's personal now?" she jibed, shrugging off his hand.

"It's always personal," he said quietly.

"If I don't lose it at work I might in my home life, is that what you're saying?"

"Most of what I'm saying, you're not hearing."

"So what? If I get into a relationship, I might be psychologically scarred?"

"Possibly," he acceded.

"Right, then kiss me."

"Ruth, please," he protested.

"I mean it Harry, kiss me, let's test the theory, you know, just in case I'm inundated with men at home and then freak out!"

"I don't want to kiss you like this," he said quietly.

"Kiss me," she insisted, "Please."

And there was something in the 'please': something hurt and needy; something plaintive; something that had moved beyond the belligerent; something…someone who needed treasuring.

His eyes fixed on hers, full of love and care and uncertainty but he stepped forward, his face close to hers and yet he didn't move further, letting her get used to the proximity, giving her time to stop him.

She did not stop him.

She felt the anger diminishing, replaced by a quiet desperation for comfort and safety and him.

His right hand lifted to her face, his thumb barely brushing the tiny hairs of her cheek. Eventually, slowly, delicately, his lips drifted to hers and kissed her with all the gentleness and care he could muster. A beautiful, loving kiss.

When he finally pulled away, he spoke quietly.

"If you need somewhere to run to, somewhere to hide, I am always here, Ruth…always."

Her face was suddenly a little lost. She nodded once and slowly walked towards the door.

"Could we go somewhere and talk Harry?" she said, still not turning.

"Whatever you want, Ruth."

He saw her nod again and then she crossed the grid and picked up her coat.


	12. Chapter 12

**Final chapter - Thank you for all the reviews.**

* * *

They sat in the dark, looking out over the river, listening to the traffic and the water and the people passing by.

"I still meant what I said," Ruth stated simply, "I would do the same thing again."

Harry nodded.

"And I am fine," this time she said it, it was softer.

"I know," he answered.

"But I'm sure you have a point that it may prove to have more of an impact than I thought."

"I would like nothing more than to be wrong, Ruth."

Their whole conversation was addressed to the river, sat side by side, eyes forward, on their bench.

"Perhaps it would feel different if I'd had to do it for someone else," she said thoughtfully, "someone … less important."

"I really don't think my standing has anything –"

"To me, Harry," she interrupted, "Less important… to me."

It hung in the air between them. Another of their concessions, their admissions, that were, for them, as lyrical as the grandest of declarations.

Minutes passed by.

"Harry…?

"Yes."

"Do you think that at some point, whenever might feel right … that the next time we happen to be 'with' someone…sleep with someone…that it might possibly be with each other rather than a complete stranger?"

Harry smiled a soft smile.

"I think I could cope with that Ruth."

She nodded, she still hadn't looked at him.

"Me too," she whispered.

And then her hand stole across the bench and slipped beneath his.


End file.
